Marzea had never enjoyed waiting.
It was a degrading thing, waiting. Especially for men who believed the world bent itself around their whims. Unfortunately for society, her brother happened to be one of those men. Worse still, he had the power to make reality comply.
The guest room balcony had long since fallen into shadow as evening descended over the manor. Beyond the iron railings, the winding road toward the estate stretched through the hills like a dark ribbon, touched by the fading hues of lavender and rose left behind by the dying sun. Lanterns had begun to flicker to life along the path leading to the main gates, their glow trembling in the cold breeze.
Marzea sat poised upon the velvet chair as though carved from marble itself, one elegant leg crossed over the other. Steam curled from the untouched tea resting beside her. She had demanded it less out of thirst and more because ordering servants about restored some measure of control to her temper.
